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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971972">are you: waiting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merits/pseuds/merits'>merits</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>unOrdinary (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, a lot of natural disaster symbolism, blyke is VERY devoted, just a sorta drabble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merits/pseuds/merits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Blyke, devotion is a lesson in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blyke/Isen (unOrdinary)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>are you: waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyDonut/gifts">DandyDonut</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ayy lmao here ya go here's the content dandy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You are a boy, devoted to your last breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You used to be called a lot of things. "Blind", "stupid", "loyal to a fault". Defending others when judgment fell upon you, like lightning crackling on the tops of mountains. Your mom used to dote on you, said your eyes could cause quakes, could laugh in the face of storms. She said you could spit in the eye of a hurricane and it would tremble, before dissipating. That you got your will from her, the ability to stay strong, to stay a pillar of courage in the face of adversity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You used to think that if you were like this, then your mother must be a goddess, all fear bundled up and thrown out. Grabbing fear by the throat, crushing it with her claws, cackling in its face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you a god? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He asked once, in the midst of a blizzard when you managed to pull him out of the freezing pond near your house. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you a god? Are you my god?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was delirious, hypothermic, clothes wet and breath shaky. His dad told you that he was sick before and he still went to your house anyway, with shouts of 'I told Blyke I would hang out with him!'.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you almost told him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I could never be someone's god. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Deities control the weather, spin fate by strings in their hands, pluck the chords of seasons one by one. You could never do that, and truthfully, you wouldn't want to. You are content to lead, but not enough to control.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Be my god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You looked at him, horrified, before you reached your front door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. I can't.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And you had the nerve to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✲✲✲</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's easy to think about it like this: you fall slow, but you fall hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your mother and sister are also like this. Your father left a long time ago, yet your mother still has a few pictures of him and the poems he wrote to her in high school. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you's</span>
  </em>
  <span> in swirly pink text, looping the letters like art. Your mom said that he once wrote during a school drill and his writing was still perfect. She still cleans the mirror because he hated the water spots, even 12 years later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your sister is still dating the girl she found in high school. High school sweethearts, queens of prom, same university. She tells you how devoted her girlfriend is, how she'd love to love her fully, to marry her. Rambles on about how her girlfriend is going to be the best writer ever, that her stories are wonderful and publications love her. A good role model, an excellent student, the best person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You want that kind of devotedness, too. You think you find it in him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You met Isen in 5th grade when he fell on his ass during P.E. and knocked you over while running. You nearly punched him in his stupid face until your teacher pulled you apart by the backs of your shirts. And then you ended up walking home in the rain for 20 minutes with soaking shoes and soaking hair because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> neither of you brought an umbrella that day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If your eyes could laugh at storms, then Isen's eyes would stop them all at once. Shifty, powerful, social. He knows what to say when things go wrong. Neither of you care much for judgment, so when people look at you funny in the hallways, he slings an arm around your shoulder, giving you an "it's okay" look while drinking from his milk carton. Like a fucking buffoon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Remi would tease you and call him your buffoon.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there was the time a guy wrote shitty things on your desk in freshman year. You got angry, but didn't dare accuse anyone, didn't dare start the fire from the fuel. You wiped it off as fast as you could, face pinched and hand cramping. You scrubbed until you got rid of the ink embedded into the wood of your desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You didn’t know just how awful Isen felt until 2 weeks later, when he had the bully cornered in the hallway, voice far too low for you to hear what he was saying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, who is this?” You asked when you approached. “What’s going on? Isen—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is the guy,” he said shakily, lowly, “who wrote that shit on your desk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your eyes widened then, and you nearly toppled over from sheer shock before clearing your throat. “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy—you don’t even remember his name, fuck—said without hesitation, “Everyone was thinking it. I was the only one who actually bothered to say something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And you knew Isen was angry from him sucking on his breath, but you were beyond angry. Furious. You wanted to punch him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, punch me,” he taunted with the biggest shit-eating grin on the face of the planet. “You wouldn’t dare ruin your golden boy reputation for a sucker like me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You almost did it, too. You wanted to. You really wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You walked away that day, the collar of your shirt heavy on your neck, and cried when you got home. You didn’t deserve it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✲✲✲</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Isen calls out to you. He wrings his fingers together and looks to the left. Something isn’t right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” you respond, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I talk to you after lunch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You shrug. “Why not now? No one’s around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm,” he hums slowly. “I just think it’s better told later. Also, if I chicken out I can just run.” You both chuckle at this, knowing his tendency to slip away from bad situations out of the strongest sense of self-preservation. You know, cowardice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, whatever.” You wave him away. “Just don’t back out you fucking coward.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands up in surrender before walking away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(You never noticed his back until right now, and—</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. When did he become like this? When did I notice?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✲✲✲</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You find him outside the cafeteria hallway and you nearly slip on an ice patch. Nearly. He, of course, laughs at you before jogging over and offering a hand up. You grumble profanities under your breath and your throat rumbles like storm clouds but you accept his gift. Begrudgingly, of course.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a prick, Isen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re clumsy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No I’m not!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey hey, fuck you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You both burst into giggles, covering your mouths and grinning wickedly at each other. Fall back into routine. The sun peeks through the clouds this time, shining down like a spotlight onto Isen. Light pours, reflects from his eyes. Forms a halo around his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You are so, so doomed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✲✲✲</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did I say that one time? Y’know, when I nearly froze?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s easy. You called me god. You could’ve been devout. Like an angel. You thought I was better than what I am. And now, I’m stuck with you, in love with your stupid ass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You said that I was the best before passing out,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what you say instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✲✲✲</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tells you he loves you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t lying, you know. You know he isn’t, and your gift of being able to read people over the years has proven that. His eyes dance in blizzards and his lips quake in fear of—rejection. Acceptance. Obsession. They say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know if you’re in love with me but I hope to god you’re in love with me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You exhale, move in closer, intertwine your fingers, and rest your forehead on his left shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You idiot. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamned</span>
  </em>
  <span> idiot,” you whisper after a long moment. “You fucking idiot. You called me a god once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You chuckle breathily, hollow laughs escaping from your throat. It’s bittersweet. “I’ve been in love with you since high school. Since you managed to get that fucking idiot who wrote that stuff on my desk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha—you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I would,” you say dead serious. Your breath is cold and comes out in huffs, barely visible to your blurry eyes. “God, you’re such a fucking idiot. You’re such an idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He protests in fake anger. “If I’m an idiot, so are you—GOD! You’re—ugh. Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother,” you whisper. “Don’t bother. You’re just stupid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah...but you were stupid enough to fall for my charms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha, I guess that’s true. Fucking weather boys. Always gotta be them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Wowwwwwwwwwww.” He pushes you away. “And here I thought you’d be nicer to me! I just confessed my undying love to you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You roll your eyes. “Nah, no way. You’re too annoying for that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, at least I accepted! I could’ve rejected you and you would’ve lived a sad, lonely life as a hermit reporter,” you protest in mock annoyance. “Admit it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Admit it! You even called me god once, so therefore I’m right!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha—” A look of realization passes on his face. “Is that when I was frozen?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” you pop the p. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was sick!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clearly not sick enough if you could recognize me for what I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes at you. “Okay, that’s a lie. You’re just a loyal piece of SHIT!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“FINE! FUCK YOU!” You start running away from him, back to the dorms, huffing wildly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“COME BACK HERE! BLYKE YOU SHITHEAD!” He curses and chases after you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So you run. Watch the world break behind him. Watch the sun illuminate his back, again. Devoted. You can be so devoted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For this moment, you remember what it means to be alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tumblr: stingro<br/>reddit: mer-its</p></blockquote></div></div>
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